


I may be bad (but I'm perfectly good at it)

by Laurentia



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: (in a mildly inappropriate way), A hellish amount of staring on Peggy's part, Dottie's is still derpy, F/F, Peggy's crush is blazing out of control, and slightly crazy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 09:18:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6046213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laurentia/pseuds/Laurentia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clenching her fists for a moment Peggy forced herself to look down. It was just another woman. Just a woman and a dress and it wasn’t as though she was being expected to strip her bare-</p><p>The thoughts came too quickly for her to stop them.</p><p>(A missing scene from "Life of the Party")</p>
            </blockquote>





	I may be bad (but I'm perfectly good at it)

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: So this occurred to me as something that could have happened in a deleted scene and now I feel like an extremely questionable person. Enjoy!

Afterwards it would occur to Peggy Carter how ludicrous it was that _this_ had been the hardest part of the mission so far.

Locating where Dottie Underwood, prize prisoner of the government, was being held? No problem. Breaking in dressed in disguise to reason with the most unhinged woman she knew – other than Whitney Frost lately, but Peggy had faith that Dottie could find a way to reclaim the title – and convince her to do battle with them? Easy-peasy. Capturing a Soviet super-spy in a net and lugging her unconscious body into the backseat of a car with the help of a man with a limp and, well, Jarvis, whilst she herself could barely breathe? She barely batted an eyelid.

Having the still unconscious form of Dottie Underwood sprawled out on her own bed, having been abandoned by said man with a limp and Jarvis and left with a rather exquisite evening gown draped next to Dottie, she being the only one who was deemed appropriate to undress the damned woman? Her eyelids were most certainly batting.

Taking a deep breath Peggy managed to look almost everywhere in the room but at Dottie’s slumbering form and considered, not for the first time, whether it would be cowardly to call upon Ana to help. It would only be _help_ after all and if she happened to find herself in charge of putting shoes on Dottie’s feet and gloves up to her elbows whilst Ana rolled stockings up her long, hard thighs – the prison dress was far too short and had ridden up and Peggy could confirm that even if Dottie wasn’t a dancer she _definitely_ had the toned muscles of one– and… where was she?

Oh yes – Ana! Ana would deal with that easily because she was married to Jarvis and used to...dressing tall people and…

_Oh dear lord get a bloody grip!_

Clenching her fists for a moment Peggy forced herself to look down. It was just another woman. Just a woman and a dress it wasn’t as though she was being expected to strip her bare-

The thoughts came too quickly for her to stop them:

The kiss again. Soft, firm lips, hands gripping her in what, alright, had turned out to be a rather more sinister touch than she would prefer but try as she might Peggy could not forget that for a split second she had been surprised that corn-fed bloody Iowa next door knew instinctively how she liked to be kissed.

And new ones:

Dottie’s clothes melting away to save her the trouble and all that pearly skin hers to claim. Lithe limbs that could easily strangle her, the dip in from her hips to narrow waist and the swell up to breasts that would have – not that she had thought about it of course – but would almost _certainly_ have soft pink nipples to match her pale skin. Perhaps she was wrong, god only knows what Dottie’s colouring really was after so many years being pulled and pressed by the Red Room, but she had settled on pink.

Would she have scars? Soft little lines where a knife had struck or a bullet had gone in and out and maybe the patchwork had been a little sloppy and it was there for all time. Or tell-tale signs of wear on her body that no amount of being a super-spy could prevent from appearing over time. Oh Christ, she was probably going to find out wasn’t she?

Shoes first.

Pulling at a lace deftly she focussed as entirely on the leather as she could. They were dull and boring and far from being either of their styles-

_“You’re wearing my brand.”_

-but Peggy persisted in mapping them with her eyes. Tiny little eyelets that were plastic rather than metal when she looked properly and she tried to swallow through her dry mouth as she glanced up to make sure Dottie was definitely still asleep. She hadn’t been lying – Dottie didn’t frighten her, not as she clearly did Thompson and his ego – but the thought that Dottie wasn’t even allowed metal eyelets did leave one slightly perturbed.

Bloody shoes hadn’t taken long enough. She bit her lip and glanced at the door. Ana Jarvis was probably downstairs and would be good-natured and take it in her stride as she seemed to most things, and she would probably laugh at Peggy’s blundering and put it down to her never having had sisters to dress up with and that would be that but…

But…

Dottie didn’t _know_ Ana. They weren’t exactly bosom buddies themselves of course but something treacherous inside her had sprung up the moment she had seen Dottie again and it was nagging at her now, forbidding her to summon Ana. It had to be her.  

Dottie had known enough violations in her life, and the saddest thing, the thing that nagged at Peggy so very much, was that Dottie barely even noticed anymore. She had gone to bed with Howard Stark for goodness sakes and though Peggy appreciated the necessity of using feminine wiles from time to time there were limits and that was most definitely hers. But Dottie barely batted an eyelid – in fact the only person who seemed to be less concerned, to Peggy’s ongoing bewilderment, was Howard himself, the imbecile who had somehow _forgotten_ having this woman all to himself?!

God there was something deeply wrong with this world and it was going to take more than her to fix it.

And it was going to take more than thought, and the desperate power of will, to get Dottie out of her dress. Peggy felt herself flush immediately at the thought and took her solitude in the task as being a saving grace – at least it wasn’t overtly obvious that she was becoming rather warm. And if somebody did come in, well it was a dry heat wasn’t it, and it always seemed to get stuffy in her room around this time and-

Focus! There would be no need for excuses if she just got the job done!

Perhaps she should handcuff one of Dottie’s hands? It would serve the dual purpose of keeping Dottie restrained in case she woke and also probably _help_ the other woman to stay asleep. She would be no use if she wasn’t well rested or whatever else the handcuffs were for-

_Christ almighty old girl._

“Right. No problem at all. Just _do_ it. Just undress the woman in your bed.”

She was _sure_ she had just seen an eyelid flicker.

“And then we can start on the hard part.”

Bracing her back as best she could with the wound still making it hard to straighten up entirely Peggy reached out her hands suddenly, almost startling herself, and ran them under the already highly riding blue skirt, pushing it up, up, up again until…

Well, she had to admit, with all the times she had thought about this – which was _never_ – she had never imagined _white_ underwear. White was what nice girls wore. What she had worn when she was younger, before she had joined Bletchley even, and what she was in no doubt pretty Violet wore, but the unassuming white cotton at the top of the long, deadly legs of Dottie Underwood was almost so bizarre it made her laugh.

It certainly broke her self-induced tension and gave her enough respite from her thoughts of black satin – oh bloody bollocks who had chosen this dress? – and leather. The blue cotton tickled over Dottie’s flat stomach, unveiling more scars than Peggy had anticipated and making her hesitate in her quest to just get this bloody done.

There were things she had expected. Shallow scars from swipes of a blade, one particularly twisted patch at her hip that Peggy guessed was where a bullet had bounced off her hipbone and the odd assorted little nicks here and there. She had those herself. What she didn’t have was one clear, straight, almost _surgical_ scar poking out just above her underwear, cutting a curve and looking for all the world as though…

No, surely not?

Would it really be surprising though? After all she had learned about that place now?

“Good god Dottie, what did they do to you?”

Closing her eyes for a brief second to regain herself Peggy gently shifted Dottie onto her side to loosen the fabric around her chest and sure enough the same innocent white was to be found encasing Dottie’s chest. Dottie’s chest being the one thing about her that Peggy privately thought barred her from ever being absolutely convincing as a ballerina.

Awkwardly angling long thin arms – _try not to think about those arms around you for goodness sake, you silly sod_ – she managed to pull the pale blue dress off Dottie entirely and then, and only then as she tossed the dress onto the top of her chest of drawers and turned back to face Dottie did she spot the blue eyes watching her.

She yelped quietly, jostled out of all her reveries by the intensity of Dottie’s gaze and immediately blushing when Dottie smirked at her surprise.

“Gee Peg, I didn’t mean to startle you,” she drawled, face a perfect picture of the most exquisite chaos Peggy could imagine but voice slipping inextricably back to the Midwest. Perhaps that voice was the only one she could be pleasant in? Peggy made a mental note to wonder – _obsess_ – over it later and cleared her throat.

“How long have you been awake?”

“Since you first started talking. I always know when it’s you don’t you know?”

Pursing her lips, trying not to think about the things she had actually said out loud, and silently thanking god that she hadn’t said a number of others things, Peggy folded her arms and regretted the lack of handcuffs. In both senses.

_Stop. It._

“As your awake you can dress yourself then.”

Not so much lifting her body as curling herself up with grace that was far too unfair given the situation Dottie glanced down at the dress, reaching out to run a hand carefully over its silky surface. The stark splash of red amongst all the black caught her attention quickly and Peggy watched as she traced long fingers down the seam, part-reverential but also, Peggy was quite sure, working out whether she could feasibly hide anything in it.

“Did you pick this out?”

No, she hadn’t. She was fairly sure Jarvis had actually, although quite where he had gotten such swift access to a dress far too long for his wife and how he had gotten in on such short notice she didn’t like to ask. It probably involved Howard being awful and really she preferred to think of him as being an eccentric genius than the often vile playboy he actually was.

Because somehow Dottie Underwood was standing before her in very little clothing, hair ruffled, face bright when clean of make-up, looking like a bobcat about to pounce at any moment, and Howard had _forgotten_ this?

Idiot.

“Yes. I thought I’d give you a bit of _red_ ,” Dottie raised an eyebrow, unamused. “Not too much though. We wouldn’t want that would we?”

Rolling her eyes Dottie tossed the dress back onto the bed, apparently bored with it as anything other than a functional piece of clothing and before Peggy could stop her – although it _was_ exactly what she had asked Dottie to do so she could hardly complain – the white bra came flying towards her face. Catching it automatically she felt the warmth immediately seep into her fingers and used every inch of her training to keep her face still as Dottie took her time stretching out her shoulders and releasing her hair from the remains of its ties.

It was likely she would spontaneously combust before the day was out, but Peggy was determined that she would do it elsewhere and not give Dottie the satisfaction so she casually dropped the bra on top of the dress and sighed.

At least she had been right about pink.

“You can borrow some of my stockings.”

Oh bloody hell that grin again. Toothy and sweet but so, _so_ dangerous and she ignored it, aware that Dottie was taking small steps towards her as she rummaged in the drawers and found the first decent pair she could. And a garter which she probably shouldn’t-

“Oh wow Peg, is that real silk?”

It was and any idiot would know that but Dottie was unafraid of being tarnished with that brush and gleefully took the opportunity to slink up to her side, suddenly close enough for Peggy to feel warm breath on her cheek. She reached out to run her thumb over the lace detailing and Peggy fought the urge to strangle her with stockings.

“Put it on. I’ll find you some make-up in the bathroom. Mr Jarvis has some ideas for your hair.”

“And _your_ make-up too? I am honoured,” Peggy didn’t need to look. She wanted to, but she didn’t _need_ to look because she just _knew_ that Dottie was smirking at her and she let out a long-suffering sigh. Then she thought better of what she was about to do. Leaving Dottie alone for even the slightest of moments could be the end of all their plans and she doubted the other woman was naïve enough not to think there would be weapons stashed around Agent Carter’s bedroom. She had anticipated Dottie staying asleep and being able to call Jarvis to carry her back.

Awake and mobile she was dangerous and as there were no handcuffs present Peggy picked the next best thing. Half-turned towards the bed she was able to watch, as stonily as she could muster, as Dottie made a show of pulling stockings up her legs, tilting them like the Blue bloody Angel, and not paying attention to the lipstick Peggy applied to her own lips.

“Am I making do with prison underwear tonight? That doesn’t scream fancy ball to me and I’m guessing that’s where I’m going,” Dottie tapped her fingers on the dress, looking expectant and incorrigibly smug. Thinking of several different ways she could wipe the smile off her face Peggy reached blindly into the drawer and tossed over the first pair she hooked her fingers around.

And she didn’t care if Dottie did a fully bloody striptease, she was not going to blush or crack or be so embarrassed that she looked the other way, even for a moment. And Dottie, being Dottie, obviously did a full bloody striptease wearing nothing but stockings and garter and Peggy thought of every dead animal she had ever found growing up. The festering badger when she was eight. The dead fox cub at ten. The maggots growing from the corner where they’d buried the dog when she was twelve and her brother hadn’t buried it deep enough.

Maggots. Think of maggots. Not the conformation that Dottie’s hair certainly wasn’t naturally as dark as it was now.

“Are you quite finished?”

“Just the dress I think. Gimme a hand will you?” Dottie tilted her head like she wasn’t a feral shark. Like she couldn’t kill her with the bloody zipper if given half the chance.

She could have called Ana Jarvis and – _let her die in my place-_

No! Called her and saved herself all this unnecessary provocation, but then if Dottie had woken to find Ana here Peggy doubted the poor woman would have lived to see the other side of the doorframe. At least she could take Dottie on so really all of this was absolutely necessary to save a life.

“Hold your arms up then.”

Grabbing the dress she bunched it in a way she knew would cause Jarvis the deepest of pain – perhaps he could iron it again once Dottie was actually covered – and realised the problem immediately. A problem the other woman had foreseen given her amused grin and insistence on flexing her stretched arms over her head, a good six inches higher than Peggy could actually reach.

“Very funny.”

“Oh lighten up a little.”

Unable to stop a small smile from twitching out she opted to indulge Dottie just this once and nudged her knee against Dottie’s, nodding towards the bed in an indication that she should sit. Blue eyes immediately went wide and Peggy sighed, licking her lips at the same moment Dottie did, which probably didn’t help in the slightest.

“Sit down Dottie,” she commanded, getting an immediate response and feeling a twitch in her lower regions at the thought of a version of Dottie that did exactly what she told her to do. Of course that woman would never exist because a few seconds later Dottie’s eagle-eyes were on the front of her shirt where no amount of _dry heat_ could stop her body betraying her even minutely.

“Is it me or is it cold in here?”

Peggy all but shoved the dress over her smirking face, ignoring how irritatingly true it was and how Dottie was in exactly the same state and didn’t seem quite as concerned about it. Dottie wriggled her arms thought obediently, brushing her hands against anything they could blindly reach for – which luckily for Peggy turned out to be her biceps – and stood up to let the dress pool to her feet.

To say she looked good in it was rather the understatement of the century so Peggy had planned to keep her opinions to herself but glancing upwards – and why on god’s green bloody earth was she still standing so close? – she found Dottie looking expectantly at her. And Peggy once again found herself with a new problem: because this wasn’t the stone cold killer than had swung a baseball bat at her and nearly cracked her skull, but neither was this wide-eyed Iowa who may well to this day still have a compartment for pickles in her purse. An entirely different woman, a woman whose name she would probably never know and she doubted Dottie remembered, gazed down at her with rapt attention, waiting for her move.

“You look very lovely Dottie.”

Whether the smile she received back was genuine or not Peggy didn’t know. It certainly seemed like it was a real expression of happiness from the Soviet but for all she knew she was just part of a long game she couldn’t even see the board of yet. Still… if _she_ was, then there was every chance Dottie was too so perhaps for just one moment it was acceptable to say something nice for the sake of it.

“Really Peg?”

“Of course,” she blushed purposefully this time, smiling tightly, not quite as bright as Dottie’s brilliant – and potentially entirely fake – illuminating smile, but still very much there and when she tilted her head Dottie followed her movement. For a second, just a split second, it reminded her of being a girl in England and visiting the reptiles in London Zoo; she recalled a snake behind glass there that had lifted itself up when she pressed her face close and when she moved it swayed with her. Dottie was her King Cobra for just a moment, the same piercing eyes, the same sense that she was about to get bitten.

“You know just what to say to spoil a girl don’t you?”

And Dottie’s long, strong arms were around her, the grip tightening slightly more than was comfortable for a hug and Peggy allowed it for a moment of not-entirely-unpleasant contact, before she anticipated whatever Dottie was planning – she didn’t know what, she just knew she _was_ – and made her move. Her move being to reach up and cup her hand underneath Dottie’s chin, firm but not forceful. And in her second moment of being duped that day Dottie fell into the kiss she thought she was leading gleefully.

_The things I do for this country._

For a moment Dottie’s whole body was pressed against the length of hers, less desperately grasping than before when she had a persona to maintain and instead Peggy let them melt together, lips battling and slowly, like a child refusing to admit it was tired, she felt Dottie go steadily limper. Hands clasped at her shoulders, trying to cling onto the kiss and Peggy let it carry on, somehow still getting a response, until Dottie had slumped to her height and finally she had to break it to lower the taller woman back onto the bed.

“You had that coming you know?” Resisting the urge to lick her lips again, the one time she had slipped since reapplying her ‘Sweet Dreams’ having made her woozy enough, Peggy reached down to wipe the excess off Dottie’s lips before Jarvis came in. Carefully checking her hands she found the tie that had held her hair up and dreaded to think what Dottie had planned to do with it. It was best not to ponder and to make sure she was tied up at all times from now on, she decided.  

_No, don’t think about that again! Plenty of time later._

Perhaps they could renegotiate prison?


End file.
